Prophecy
by Singe1
Summary: Something has gone terribly wrong with the path of Prophecy. Unknown to Belgarath is the ancient guild created before time even began, in the Age of Dreams, to aid him through his timeless quest.


Warnings: There's blood, transformation, and attitude, not to mention sarcastic humor. 

Disclaimer: I own the character Amradye, but none of the others. They belong to David and Lee Eddings. 

Rating: PG-13, because that's the way I think it ought to be. 

Author's last-minute note: Have fun reading.

She lay in the snow like a rag-doll, the skin of her back warm despite the frigid winds that blew through the mountains, with a sort of whistling howl. That peculiar thought struck her as her horse's cold, wet nose nudged her temple. She carefully moved her arms and legs, then struggled to her feet and looked around the large outcropping of rock. At least she hadn't broken any bones. There had, after all, been a pitched battle in foot-deep snow. The white powder was frozen beneath, and tripping was a constant danger, a mistake which had cost many of her men's lives. She looked morosely at the dead bodies of men of the green. They had given their lives for something they believed to be greater than themselves. They deserved a proper burial. But the sun was setting on the fourth day of her journey. She absolutely had to reach the people before the seventh day, and they were still at least forty leagues ahead of her. Still, they were loaded down with supplies and a lame horse, or so she understood, and she was not. If she rode her horse till it was near death, she might have a chance. She just hoped they recognized her if they saw her first. If not, the two sorcerers might just think twice about this lone rider's decision to track them. She would have to be more than cautious. She smiled as she turned her horse to the side of a large rock, to aide her step in mounting him. It would be nice to see Mandorallen again. The big knight made her heart warm and her mood light. She had only seen him at a distance, and had never spoken to him directly. For some reason, she was afraid to even let him catch her looking at him, if she ever did. The first time she'd seen him, when he had come charging out of the forest to aide Belgarath and the others, the Prophecy had held her in check. Its grip was like iron and it sealed her lips to cut off the inadvertent gasp that should have come forth. She had then stalked out of the forest, in the opposite direction from where the group was going to head. The Prophecy had told her that they were on their way to retrieve the orb. Her silence was icy as it attempted to explain the gravity of the situation. The idle conversation was meant to redirect her sullen peevishness from him to Torak. It hadn't worked very well though. It now talked to her in a calm, unworried voice. 

"You know, this infatuation with the Knight Protector might not be so serious a setback as you originally thought." 

"I know what I'm doing. Shut up and leave me alone for now, would you? I'm having a moral crisis, and you've never been very helpful with those." 

"As you wish." It's voice sounded annoyingly amused. She rode down the muddy trail that wound down from the mountain and out of Ulgo territory. She listened carefully for any noise. Another encounter with the roving Algroths was definitely out of the question. She mourned for the soldiers as she rode, drawing the coldness around her like a cloak. 

"They had a purpose you know. They had to defend you, or you would never have survived that attack." 

"Leave me alone." 

"You're not going to make very good time, sulking like this." 

She nudged her mount into a canter, and then into a startling gallop as they reached the bottom. There was less snow, and they could increase speed without any danger. While she traveled, she pointedly ignored the Prophecy's attempts to advise her. It finally gave up and withdrew from her mind, leaving her with her horse who, although a stalwort companion, did not have much to say in the way of conversation. During the night spent on horseback, she made the grudging discovery that she missed the dry voice. It had been with her since she was born. In fact, it had been the only one with her since she was born. She had been an orphan since before she could remember, and it had taught her things about the world that had opened some interesting doors. An adopted family had entered her life shortly after her seventh. She'd been a little disappointed at first, since she did not get along with people very well, but that left her quickly after she learned what depths humans had. Emotions and the possibilities the thought took wondered her, and the Prophecy took her into the realms of speculation and theory. Her adopted father was most pleased with her mind, and bought her the finest education the city could provide. When she was grown, she rather suddenly left and traveled west to look in on the one he called Belgarion. She was supposed to meet him when he found out about his identity and ascended the Rivan throne. Practicality and Emotionality were forever warring for dominance, and the result was an image of a very complex, intelligent little girl. While she was young, she was viewed as a treasure, and when she grew, was viewed as a threat to her father's enemies in the city, usually wealthy merchants and the like. As she rounded a corner and dove into a pine forest, her thoughts forcibly turned to Mandorallen. The knight was stupendous in his armor, and his great voice still tingled her ears. She was small compared to his size. Her first thought was that the monsters were doomed when this giant rode down on them. His entire figure was emblazoned in her brain, and she was caught up in a sort of hopeless adoration. The only thing wrong was that she hadn't even glimpsed his face. His stupid white horse thundered by so fast that she couldn't even see his eyes as he passed her unnoticed form. She wondered if he would like her at all. 

"I wouldn't worry about that," the dry voice murmured. "You're very beautiful." 

"Thank you." There was an awkward silence and then she blurted it out. 

"I'm sorry I snapped at you. I had no right to do it. You were only trying to help me, and I was angry at myself." 

"What did you do?" 

"It was more like what I didn't do. I didn't even get to see his face," she quailed. "He's occupied my mind for no good reason, and all I know about him is his name and that he's the Knight Protector." 

"Nothing else is important," the dry voice declared. 

"Maybe not to you," she pointed out. "But to me, I should know more about a man before this happens." 

"Like what?" 

"Well," she fumbled about. "Like his favorite color, or what he likes, or maybe even what he looks like." 

"I think I see what you mean." 

"What enormous insight." 

"How would it be if I told you some things about him?" 

"I'd like it better if he and I discussed it, but I get the feeling it'll never happen." 

"We'll see. Let's begin with the color then." 

So the trip was spent talking about the knight and what he liked and his general life. All in all, she found it rather interesting, till it occurred to her that some people would consider a talk like this as a general conception of gossip. She pointed that out as she prepared dinner, a simple, delicate meal of a bit of red meat and a raw potato. 

"Well," her companion began after a moment's silence, "I can't see where this would bother you. He is your betrothed, after all." She dropped her potato in astonishment and choked on her water. 

"What," she exclaimed in a strained voice as she recovered her breath. 

"I said--"

"No, I heard you. I meant what you said about him being my.....my..." 

"Your betrothed. Well, maybe not by ordinary men, but it is written in the stars. You will be the bride of the Knight Protector." 

"You don't usually tell people these things before they happen, do you?" 

"Not usually, no." 

"Why me?" 

"You would not believe how many times people ask me that question. It's because you're the one who can do it best. And also because you need to know before you meet him. Don't ask why, please." 

Then he was gone. That was an irritating habit he'd picked up somewhere. She continued till she reached the plains of Algaria, reaching the stronghold at night when the moon was high. The voice had advised her that was where King Cho-Hagg would be now. She hoped he was right. She was escorted inside and taken to a rather fussy Algar maid-servant, who informed her that the king was asleep, like most people at this hour. She had ridden non-stop for more than three days and nights, stalling just long enough for brief dips in ice-cold lakes and creeks, and her mood was decidedly less than tolerant. She stared at the woman for a full two minutes before she trusted herself to speak in a normal tone of voice. 

"Then wake him. Tell him Belgarath sent me." Her voice, naturally low and vibrant, had a sharp edge to it. The maid gave her a startled glance, and then hurried off down the hall. The guards shifted nervously on their feet as she growled a few choice curses. She was so tired, and now she had to talk to people. She was a patient person most of the time, or so she thought. She just had to get used to being around people again. Ten years of complete isolation had made her less than social. The king was just as irritable as he entered the room, wrapped in a red robe trimmed in black fur, his crown lopsided on his tousled hair. 

"All right," he gestured irritably. "What's this all about?" 

"I need to see Belgarath. Where is he?" 

Cho-Hagg stopped short, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "And just what would you be needing with that information?" 

"I have to reach him before two more days have passed." 

Cho-Hagg's suspicion did not lessen as he sat down in a chair, offering her one. She politely declined. If she sat down now, she would probably fall asleep. Cho-Hagg got straight to the point. 

"What are you looking for him for?" 

She sighed, raking her fingers through her thick, silver hair and began the story of the Prophecy and what it had told her about them all. In the end, he was convinced, since not many people, and certainly none of Belgarath's enemies, could send an assassin with this much information on the Prophecy. She thanked the gods that Cho-Hagg knew enough about the Prophecy to conclude that. 

"They left here about three days ago, headed for the vale. If you hurry, you can catch them before the three days you spoke of are up." 

She left immediately, after the farewells. Cho-Hagg was, after all, the king there. The fact that her horse could run faster than any other might have helped. The fleet stallion was like an arrow as it speed through the tall grass, literally blinking by the miles. They slowed as they reached the vale's border, skirting around the herds of cattle and their grim watchers as the sun rose on the horizon. As she entered, the presence of Aldur impressed itself upon her. Although a gentle presence, it was thoroughly profound. The animals here seemed quite tame, and watched her pass with a gentle curiosity. Altogether, it was a peaceful place. The first tower she came to was squat and resembled a stump. She nodded and smiled. That was definitely Belgarath's tower. It fit his description perfectly. She reached the base and called up to him, hoping he was in the stunted tower of rock. 

"Belgarath! We need to talk!" 

After a few seconds, an aged man with a white beard and hair leaned out the opening she assumed was a window. 

"Who are you? And what do you want?" 

"I think that would be better discussed face to face rather than shouting it all over the vale, don't you? I have some important instructions for you, Belgarath. More to the point, we have to meet directly."

He looked a bit startled, but said nothing more as he disappeared back into his tower. Their came a strange whispering sound, and a rock slab in front of her grated and slid to the side, revealing a sloping stairway. She dismounted and started up. The stairway wound around the solid tower, ending in a round room at the very top. The windows faced the four directions, and there was a hopeless quality to the mess accumulated during the man's long life of ceaseless study. Belgarath stood by a table filled with all manor of little contraptions and a few scrolls. 

"Well? Who are you?" 

She smiled and looked about the tower, nodding in approval. She gestured with her pale arm. 

"This is quite a good accumulation of clutter you have here. It must have taken quite a while." 

The old man grunted sourly. He obviously was unused to strange people poking around his tower. 

"Very well. I am Amradye, a warrior from the Age of Dreams. I am of the order of the green, specifically created to aide the Sorcerer Belgarath, should he need us."

Belgarath's look was incredulous, and she felt his mind pushing out toward a pair of towers connected by a single bridge. 

_Brothers, I need you. Can you come to my tower now? _

_Of course, Belgarath. We'll be there in a few moments. _

His thought came back and he began to pace about the room. Then he stopped and stared at her. 

"The Purpose sent you, didn't he? He brought you back and gave you instructions for me." 

She nodded gravely. 

"You're supposed to find the Mother of the Race that Died at Rak Cthol. Don't worry about it till you reach that place." 

The old man sighed with relief. 

"Why didn't you summon the others? Don't you think Lady Polgara should know about this?" 

He started. "You knew I was talking to them? I mean, you could hear us?" 

"Of course." 

"How?" 

"I'm the same thing you are. I'm just older." 

He strangled a bit on that as the twins appeared outside. 

"We're here," they called. 

Belgarath whirled and sent down his will, opening the slab once again. When the two Sorcerers appeared, she could not help but smile. Their eyes were exactly as she'd have expected. She felt an odd sort of familiarity with them, as if they were family or something. They carefully stepped around the mound of clutter and folded their arms. Belgarath extended his hand to her. 

"This is the Warrior of the Green, Lady Amradye." 

"From the Age of Dreams?" They both said at once. In an instant, she perceived that the two sorcerers were at once the same, and different. They were two people whose minds were so connected that it made it almost impossible for people to tell them apart. Belgarath nodded. 

"Can you two tell me if there's anything in the Mrin Codex about them?" 

They frowned, thinking. "No, we don't really--"

"—think so, Belgarath." 

"Then how did you know about it?" 

"Well, Beldin's library has some information on the Age of Dreams, and--"

"—one of the texts mentioned the Green Warriors." 


End file.
